A Year Without You

Him: Day 1 - The day she left

Last night must have been the most exhausting evening since my mother left my father and me. Jake had been a sport and allowed me to stay over at his apartment. Waking up on a couch, with your life packed in a bag, you'd question how you end up in such a situation by choice. And it was a choice, leaving her—ending us. But it doesn't mean it hurt any less. Three years of our relationship going in a blink of an eye.

"Hey, man. Are you okay?" Jake broke my trance as he stood above me.

I tilted my head and stared at my friend's face. "Yes. I'm good." Hearing the sound of my voice made me winced. It was rough and shaking. It must have been the silent crying before I slept a few hours ago.

"Do you want breakfast?" He asked. As a man, we didn't address the obvious. But it doesn't mean we're heartless in any way. There was a time to talk and a time to eat. And our empty stomach spoke much volume.

"Sure, man," I muttered in reply, looking away and sat up.

"How about you clean up and get dress while I start up the pan?" he suggested, regarding me for another moment.

I wasn't aware I sat there, looking dead again. I turned and gave him a strained smile. "Thanks, man." Those words held all of the help he'd done so far, especially now.

"Anytime, dude." He nodded and scurried away towards the kitchen.

I sat there for another minute, just assessing myself. Looking down at my wrinkled clothes, I hadn't bothered to change last night and crashed on the couch—even though I slept nearly four in the morning from overthinking. I vividly remember the words that flew out of my mouth yesterday.

"I couldn't do this anymore."

Was it what I wanted to say? Was it the right decision?

Yet she didn't jump and argued with me. It got me thinking about certain things.

Had she always felt it would never work between us? How could I have missed it? Why didn't I see it?

I closed my eyes and thought of instances she gave hints. But I couldn't think straight. Her words last night rang in my ears.

"Me too."

Before insanity could overtake me, I got up and headed toward the bathroom. I brought my bag with me, grimacing about the stuff I left at the apartment. Could I enter that place without feeling like an idiot? But I wasn't the one who had it difficult. She was sleeping in our—well hers now—bed.

Was she crying as well?

I jolted when I heard a knock on the bathroom door.

"Collin, man. Are you alive?" Jake called teasingly, though with an edge of worry.

"I'm here. I'm not yet done," I replied and assessed my clothes from yesterday. I hastily pulled it off. "I'll take a shower now. I'll be out in a few. Sorry for taking too much time."

"It's okay. Take your time. And breakfast is ready," he informed.

For a second, I listened to his footsteps. But there was nothing.

"Jake, man. I'm fine. I won't do anything," I reassured him.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not that kind of person. I'll be fine. I'm not thinking straight, that's all." I admitted.

There was another silence before he retorted. "Do you want to talk about it?" he sounded hesitant and awkward.

"Now? While I'm nearly naked in the bathroom?"